Father Knows Best
by BatmansBabe
Summary: JE. Weatherby and Elizabeth get their moments. Pre CotBP to Post AWE


I.

She is nine, and as she watches her mother being lowered into the ground, she does not cry. She has not cried, not once since her mother became sick so long ago. She did not cry when her father appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, and looked down at her with tears in his eyes.

She did not cry when, seconds later, he took a seat next to her and his head dropped into his hands, and his shoulders shook. Instead she crawled into his lap, her gangly legs sticking out a little oddly as she held him close, and let him cry.

Her fathers grasp on her shoulder has begun to be painful, but she pays it little mind, instead watching silently as the ornate wooden box is lowered into the frozen ground. She has always thought it a stupid practice to put people in boxes like this.

She wants to be burned, her ashes free to fly wherever they will.

They begin to throw dirt over the casket, and her father lets go of her shoulder.

She looks up, and feels a smile forming on her face.

It has begun to rain.

II.

Her governess has been informed of their departure to Jamaica, and the nurses are mostly gone, so her father takes her with him when he heads to the docks for business. He does not let go of her hand until they are standing before Captain Hawkins. And for a moment it is all she can do but stare at her surroundings. She breathes in the salty air, stares at the sails of the ships in fascination, watches the ships crews go about their business.

Then she begins to explore. Her father has always refused to take her to the docks, but as she makes her way through the melee, she isn't quite sure why. The men nod kindly, some shouting out greetings to the little miss.

She can smell spices of all kinds, watches men as they unload large crates…a ways down, she can hear singing.

She thinks, no matter how off key they sound, that it is the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

Her father seems overly fatherly as he takes her hand and leads her back toward their home. He does not reprimand her, merely tells her that he wishes she would listen to him.

He has gone soft since her mother died.

III.

She comes back sweaty, and there is a smudge of dirt on her face. She hides her left hand, knowing that if he sees the bindings he will demand to know how she cut herself, and she knows that he really doesn't want to know.

He loves her a bit too much, she decides. No other man would let his daughter run about like he does. He would not let her leave for hours at a time every other day (except Sundays), when he knows exactly where she is going, even though neither of them ever say it. He would not invite William to dinner on Saturdays, not politely ask him how things are going now that he has officially become master, and no longer apprentice.

He would not ignore the longing looks she gives her betrothed over the dinner table, and he would most certainly reprimand her for the daydreamy looks she sometimes directs out to sea.

She smiles at him, kisses him on the cheek, and heads up the stairs, careful to keep her hand out of his sight.

He doesn't want to know that she cut her hand in a sparring match with Will, really. He's much happier to let her do as she will. That way, he never has to be overly upset with her.

IV.

There are things left unsaid that she desperately wishes she'd said. That she loves her father. That she understands why he doesn't trust any of them – Will, Jack, or herself – but that neither of those men would let her get hurt. This she knows.

She wishes she could tell him that she did cry, eventually. She was twelve, and the nurse was attempting to explain to her what the menses were, and why her stomach cramped just so (and made her want to scream for the sudden pain of it), and she really, really just wanted to curl up in her mothers lap and listen to her soft voice as she read to Elizabeth about Sao Feng.

She wants him to know that she is sorry, truly, that she couldn't quite live up to his expectations. That her own path didn't match his for her.

But as she slips out of the carriage, thinking she will never wear this much dress in her life ever again, and her father calls for the captain, she knows how unlikely it is she will ever get to say any of those things to him.

I love you, she thinks, as she slips into the shadows, plotting the quickest course to Beckett.

V.

Will lets her go only when they are long past Weatherby Swann, and for a moment, she hates her father.

It does not last. The crew disperses at Jack Sparrow's quick orders, and Will squeezes her arm comfortingly before disappearing down the stairs.

She does not move. Her gaze stays steady, towards the wheel of the Pearl, and she does not notice Jack's approach until he speaks.

"He's not gone to the Locker, Elizabeth," he says, his voice sure. She thinks she should find comfort in this.

She turns her head away, back out into the light bedecked sea stretching out before them. She thinks, ironically, that it looks very much like the starry night they'd witnessed only a day before.

How much has changed, since then.

VI.

He visits in a dream. She is stretched out in the captain's bed, locked there against her will but still tired enough to take Jack's word. Sleep, he said.

So she does.

She doesn't know if it is her imaginings, or if this is really her father come to see her. But he is standing there, younger than last she saw him. His wig is gone, in its place a full head of hair, one he hasn't had since she was six, and her mother and father returned from the doctor looking quite upset. He looks more muscular, less wiry, not gray around the edges. She's always seen him as strong…but he looks more so, now.

Hello, dear, he says, and plops – she's never seen him plop before, not in her whole life – onto the wooden deck next to her.

This is a dream, she replies, and he chuckles, that deep, hearty laugh that always fills her heart.

Possibly. Or it might be real. 

She thinks he sounds a bit like Jack. And then wonders at that old adage. Did girls always look for their fathers in the men they loved?

He glances at her, and she realizes why he seems so young to her. There is a sparkle in his eye that hasn't been there since he started losing his hair. Started losing his wife.

And if it is a dream? Does that make it any less what you need?

She sighs heavily, leans back against the pile of rope behind her, looks up at the stars.

Will is dead.

Not really.

You're gone.

Not quite.

Jack despises me.

Now that I can tell you with complete certainty is not the case, my love.

I cried, she tells him. He nods.

I know.

VII.

The babe is swaddled in the violet fabric Barbossa appropriated for him, and that she now thinks suits the son of a Pirate King.

Nathaniel was my grandfather's name, Weatherby tells her, staring out to sea, his legs dangling off the edge of the cliff they sit on. Far below them, waves crash against old limestone. Nathan fusses in his arms sleepily.

She watches her father. He visits her in her sleep often, now.

The wind throws her hair back, plays with the sleeves of her shirt. She still feels like a pirate, she tells her father.

Always will, dearest, he says, now letting Nathan grasp his finger.

She wonders if he was ever upset at her, for becoming what she is.

Not for a moment. Not on your life.

He's begun to sound a bit like a pirate himself, without all his gubernatorial duties to hold him back.

Always did like those pirate stories your mother read you, he says.

Secretly.

He chuckles, and Nathan blinks up at him in admiration. Aye. Secretly.

VIII.

She longs for the sea. Not the sea, in as much, but the freedom it brings her.

Her father tells her the only cage she has is the one she's made for herself.

She remembers when her father had bought her that overly expensive bird, the thing that chirped constantly, the colorful one.

Drove me near to madness, he tells her.

I remember how shocked you looked, she reminds him, when I let it go.

That was when I knew.

Knew what? she wonders.

Knew there'd be no one ever to cage you, deary.

IX.

He glances around her room in fascination. His eyes take in the shelf laden with large sea shells, and jars full of small ones.

He plays with the pistol for a moment, sets it back down.

He points to the Oriental paintings, traces her face.

A treasure map, she tells him.

The ship in the bottle.

From an old friend.

He glances at her as he studies the music box. I'm not quite as stupid as you think I am, Bethy.

His hair, abnormally long, swings about his face.

They move into Nathan's room, where he is fast asleep, and Weatherby pats his hair, pulls his covers up to his chin where they'd fallen loose.

The silk hanging from Nathan's window is worn, a little worse for the wear. There is a spot of something she thinks might be a hairball near the bottom.

She thinks it is fitting.

Father?

He turns to look at her.

I love you, she says, and reaches out to touch him

As always, her hand touches thin air.

X.

Jack leads her to her bed, and when she crosses her arms and looks up at him, he bends, swings her into his arms, and deposits her on it.

I'm fine, she tells him as he fluffs her pillow, pulls the covers tight around her.

Been sick for weeks, love, he tells her. Not fine. He stares at her for a long time, and she turns away from him, closing her eyes, her head pressed into the pillow. She can hear his breathing, knows he is still watching her, and the thought calms her somewhat.

When she sleeps, she finds herself on _that_ beach. Her father is curiously studying the burnt out contents of what used to be a rum cache, and as she moves up the beach he looks up at her.

When she reaches him, he swipes a hand toward her and for a moment she thinks he means to smack her.

His hand finds its way to his side again without her feeling a thing.

Jolly good, he says. Thought you were dead for a moment, there.

He picks up a broken glass, examines it.

So how is Captain Sparrow? he asks, and she blinks in confusion.

He laughs at her.

Whatever would we be here for, if he hadn't stumbled back into your life?

She grants him that. As annoying and self-centered as ever.

And yet…

She stares at the quite full bottle of rum he is holding, and swipes it from his grasp, throwing it into the cavernous hole. It makes a satisfying noise as it breaks open.

XI.

Father! She says, her face burning, and she glances everywhere but at him.

No Jack in sight. No Jack, no bedroom, no bedclothes thrown every which way.

She pats her hair into some semblance of order. Tries to cover the blush on her face, and realizes that everything is white, like looking into the sun on a very hot day.

She blinks a few times as she realizes that her father is not, in fact, bursting in on her post-coital moment, and the scene around her melts. She is back in her bedroom, and as her father stares pointedly out the window, she notes that Jack is flailed across her entire bed, fast asleep. She pulls a blanket over him, trying not to smile at the sight he makes.

Annoying and self-centered, you say?

She looks at her father. For the first time in a long, long time, she feels as if her father is interrupting something. But she humors him. I've looked past it before, she says.

He chuckles, kicks a boot – Jack's – out of the way. She kicks Jack's trousers under the bed.

I…

You love him.

_No._

He smiles.

_Yes._

XII.

Weatherby looks at his daughter, and he sighs heavily. She notices that there is gray at his temples. Aqua de Vida, he says softly and she nods. Who is she doing this for?

_Myself_, she begins. I've seen enough death.

He says not a word, merely ambles over to the wheel of the Pearl (since when does he _amble_?), touches it softly.

_Will_. Once every_ ten years_.

He puts a finger to the wind, turns the wheel.

_Nathan_. I remember when my mother died.

Now he stares up into the rigging of the _Pearl_ as the sails catch a strong wind, and she sighs.

_Jack._

She wakes to find Jack watching her, head propped up with one arm. She holds his gaze.

You were talking in your sleep.

He thinks she was dreaming of Will.

It was my father.

He kisses her fiercely.

Who are you doing this for?

He takes a long time to respond, so she lets her head drop in to the sand. He kisses her brow. If I said for meself, it'd only be half-true.

XIII.

Saw Will, he says.

She has the urge to ask _when_, but knows she would get no answer. Time is not a concept death understands.

He's looking well.

She holds her fathers gaze. I miss him, sometimes, she says.

He tries to take her hand in his grasp. Smiles at her when she looks down and feels nothing.

I miss you, sometimes, she continues.

I miss you all the time.

XIV.

Your mother sends her regard.

She looks at him from her place at the wheel of her ship. Why does she never come to see me?

Because you've never wanted her here.

She starts to correct him.

Don't tear yourself up over it, my dearest. She loves you, all the same.

He gestures as he says it, and she wonders if, in her dreams, she is turning her father into Jack Sparrow.

XV.

I think I might die, soon, she tells him.

He glances at her. Not for a while, yet. The fountain of youth does a lot of things to a person.

Jack left, she tells him.

Why?

She sighs. Because I told him to.

Weatherby Swann stares at the mainmast of the Pearl. There is a pair of empty shackles hanging there.

He went back. He promised he wouldn't go back and he did.

He'll be back.

She looks heavenward. Then has to wonder if she believes in heaven. Not after what I said.

Darling, he says, his gaze still on the mast, I'm sure you've done much worse.

XVI.

Evening, Gov'ner, Jack says from beside her shoulder, and she starts.

No one has ever been in the dream with her. Not awake, anyway.

Captain.

Nz, Jack enunciates. Captains.

This isn't real. It's all been a dream.

There are stars in the sky as they all stand inside the fort of Port Royal.

Weatherby looks older. He has begun to bald, and there are definitive wrinkles around his eyes.

Jack looks younger than he's been for nearly fifteen years. The beards are still in his beard. His dreadlocks are the same color as the ridiculous flag he insists they fly on their small ship (more of a boat, really) – a red sparrow and a white swan, flying around the skull and crossbones on a black background.

By the feel of her hair and the way her joints ache a bit, she knows she must look exactly the same as she had before she'd fallen asleep.

Met Nathan properly today, he says. Good boy. Good man.

Much more betterer than I, Jack says with a lilted smile.

Much more betterer than me, Elizabeth corrects, and then huffs indignantly when both men give her wide grins.

XVII.

I saw James Norrington.

James?

Seems happy enough. Scintillating conversational speaker.

Very pirate-y, that one.

She swears that, when he walks away from her, his hips are swaying.

XVIII.

The sand is warm at her back. The sun blinks down at her. She closes her eyes, and hums to herself.

Heave, ho, thieves, and beggars. Ne'er shall we die…

So immortality finally finished with you, did it?

She jumps at, flings herself at him. Father!

He is solid, and real. He hugs her as she embraces him tightly, and when she pulls away she notices that he is young. Very young.

She doesn't remember him ever looking like this.

Of course not, he says, laughing. I only looked like this the day you were born.

She laughs.

It feels nice.

Being dead?

Being here.

XIX.

Jack is sure this is the weirdest hallucination…dream…thing he's ever had.

And there's been some exceedingly anomalous deliriums.

Highest greetings, Sparrow.

Captain, he bites out, but he bows low in greeting.

And how are you this fine morning?

He glances up, and realizes that there is a sun in the sky.

My daughter is waiting for you, you know, and not doing it very well.

'Lizabeth? Lizzy doesn't wait for anyone, leastways not meself.

He swears Weatherby rolls his eyes.

And what's to say I care? 

Governor Swann sits down next to him in the sand. Come, now, Sparrow, you're deluding yourself if you think anyone would believe you aren't madly in love with her.

Irrevocably.

Exactly.

He stands. And…if I were in the kind of frame of mind to be considerate of dear Bess and her incapacity to be patient with the man she loves quite desperately?

You've found the way before.

Jack reaches for his compass. Pulls it open.

You love her just as much, and considerably more, I think.

He takes a step back and his bare feet sink into the wet sand, the tide coming in around his legs. The compass points straight ahead, and he sees a flash of blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight. He stares, and when her eyes catch his, he knows that Weatherby Swann is no longer there on the beach. He answers him anyway.

You've no idea.


End file.
